Stranger (27 page)

Ross

MIA TWIRLED IN THE MIDDLE OF HER COTTAGE, HER
skirts flaring out. Ross liked the contrast of the petal-pink of all those ruffles with the blue-black silk of her hair.

“Still looks good,” he said.

“You look good too.” She peeked out the window. “While we're waiting for Jennie, tell me what happened while you were in the infirmary. Every time I looked in, you were asleep.”

“That's because I slept the whole time, except when your father woke me for meals.”

“I meant with the singing tree. Did your deal work? Did you have nightmares, or did it leave you alone?”

“No,” said Ross, after a pause.

“No, which?”

“I didn't have nightmares, but it didn't leave me alone. Not completely.” It was hard to put feelings, intentions, and images into words. “I did dream about it, but it wasn't scary or awful. Actually, it was kind of interesting. I guess while I was figuring out how to talk to the tree, it was figuring out how to talk to me.”

“That's amazing,” Mia said. “And a little bit creepy.”

“It's a lot less creepy than what was going on before.” For the first time since he'd come to Las Anclas, he felt as strong as he had before Voske's soldiers jumped his claim. His left hand still couldn't grip, but he was getting used to that, and working around it. He wasn't tired, he didn't hurt, he had more than enough to eat and drink, and when the dance ended tonight, he wouldn't be afraid to fall asleep. It was such a relief that he couldn't bring himself to worry about what his dreams might mean.

Jennie knocked and came in. Her dress was the color of red wine—and it had obviously been made for someone much smaller. Every beautiful curve strained the seams, especially in the low-cut front.

“You look great,” Ross managed, knowing he shouldn't stare, or at least not at the places where he was staring. He tried to keep his eyes on her face, on the matching threads she had woven into her braids.

Jennie sighed, stretching the dress even tighter across her breasts. “It's Meredith's dress. I altered it, but—”

“It looks better that way,” Ross blurted out. “It's great.”

Mia burst into giggles. A beat later, Jennie joined in. Embarrassment burned through him, but then he realized that neither of them was laughing at him. Or, at least, not in a mean way.

“Can you breathe?” Mia asked.

“It's a challenge,” Jennie admitted. “Come on, let's go dance!”

She and Mia each held out an arm and waited, smiling. Ross slowly stepped into the space between them. He slid one hand into the crook of Jennie's sleekly muscled arm, her skin like silk. His other hand tucked into Mia's arm, which was as light-boned as a bird's wing.

They set out, easily falling into step. As much as seeing his tree for the first time had been a nightmare come true, walking arm-in-arm with Mia and Jennie felt like a dream. He couldn't help smiling as they entered the square.

Under bowers of vines, streamers, and hanging baskets of flowers, elegantly dressed people sat at beautifully decorated tables. The biggest and most elaborate was by the town hall, where the mayor and defense chief and their family sat, with Henry Callahan sitting beside Felicité. But though the entire town seemed to have turned out—except for the unlucky handful stuck on sentry duty—none of them were Rileys.

“My family must still be trying on other people's clothes,” Jennie said with a rueful glance at the bare table that was obviously theirs. “Let's go visit yours.”

Mia's relatives applauded when they walked up.

“That's your mother's dress, isn't it?” her aunt asked wistfully. “It looks beautiful on you.”

“All three of you are beautiful.” Grandma Lee smiled. “Have a seat!”

“Dante just dropped off his contribution.” An uncle indicated a covered platter. “I'm not sure what it is, exactly.”

Mia cautiously lifted the lid. The platter was covered with fist-sized balls of transparent gelatin that had fish and flowers of colored gelatin suspended within. “I don't know what they'll taste like,” she said dubiously. “But they're pretty. And they haven't melted or exploded or burst into flames. Yet.”

The tables laden with food filled the summery air with delicious smells. “Do people share their food?” Ross asked.

Mia grinned. “That's the best part! You're expected to at least taste as many dishes as you can, and still dance. Try not to explode.”

Ross swallowed. “When do we start eating?”

“Not until the dance officially begins,” Jennie said. “I know this one opens with a presentation, because I've heard Felicité rehearsing it before school. Oh, there's my family!”

The arriving Rileys, in fancy but poorly fitting borrowed clothes, waved back as they made their way to their barren table.

Yuki hurried up, formally dressed in a black suit. “I owe you for the pit mouth. Take this.”

He held out a silver statue of a dancer. Ross instantly recognized it as an ancient artifact.

“Where did you get that?” Jennie asked.

Yuki pushed the statue into her hands. “It's the best thing I have.”

“It's beautiful.” She admired it, then returned it to Yuki. “I can't take this. If you help us rebuild the shed, that's good enough.”

Yuki gave it back to her. “Just take it for the evening. As a decoration.”

Jennie smiled. “I would love that. Thank you.”

Yuki walked away.

Ross leaned close. “I wonder where he got it. It's worth everything else here put together.”

As Jennie went over to carefully set the statue on the Riley table, Mia reached for a dish. “Can I give the Rileys our chili noodles? They're Mr. Riley's favorite.”

“Of course,” said Grandma Lee.

“And the fish soup,” said an uncle.

“And some
panchan
.” A cousin handed Ross a platter laden with small bowls of kimchi, potato salad, and stir-fried vegetables.

As they set the gifts on the Riley table, they were joined by Jack Lowell with goat stew and corn tortillas, Anna-Lucia with a peach pie, Ms. Lowenstein with beef brisket, and a sparkling woman with an embroidered tablecloth. Two women in their sixties, one with a crown of white braids and one who looked like she was related to Sheriff Crow, brought a basket of flatbread. Across the square, people rose from every table to offer food and decorations.

Ross took a step back in alarm as Felicité came up with an enormous bouquet of white roses. She couldn't expect him to be part of the presentation, could she?

But she didn't give him a glance. “Jennie, I'm so sorry about the shed. But you look marvelous. Have you seen Brisa? We should have started by now.”

Jennie shook her head. “She ran off right after the explosion. She said something about replacements.”

Felicité headed for the Vardams' table. Between its canopy of colorful streamers and his embroidered tunic, Mr. Vardam's chameleon skin made him into a rainbow man. She greeted him, and then turned to Sujata. “Brisa isn't here. Can you take her place?” she asked. “I can write out her poem.”

“I hate recitations,” Sujata replied. “Especially unrehearsed. Can I do anything else?”

“I'll cut the poem down to two lines. Please?” Felicité said winningly.

Sujata caved in. “Oh, okay.” They walked away, leaving Ross breathing in relief. It seemed that the visitor's dance would leave the visitor in peace.

Grandpa Lee hushed everyone. “It looks like we're starting. Finally.”

The musicians played a fanfare. Felicité, Becky, and Sujata walked to the center of the square, each carrying a large bouquet. Felicité's white bouquet and Becky's pink one matched their dresses and the straw hats; Sujata was the odd girl out, in a crimson sari and a clashing yellow hat. She held a bunch of yellow roses.

But the one Ross felt sorry for was Becky, who stood stiffly, her gaze fixed on the ground. Her lips moved, but though the entire town was quiet—the only sound a distant cry of birds—she was completely inaudible.

Sujata was next, balancing a slate behind her bouquet. She read so fast that Ross couldn't catch anything but “glorious history” and “glacier,” or possibly “gracious.” At least it was short, he thought gratefully as his stomach growled. He heard snickering from a far table.

Felicité spoke clearly. “With these poems—”

“What poems?” a boy called.

To Ross's surprise, Henry half-rose from the mayor's table, hissing, “Shut up, Basil.”

Felicité lifted her chin. Her voice wobbled slightly as she began again. “We salute the grace of the past with the promise of the present, by presenting these bouquets to our esteemed and honored mayor, Valeria Wolfe.”

She curtseyed and handed her bouquet to the mayor. The other girls did the same.

The bandleader nodded, and the musicians began to play the opening waltz. The mayor and Mr. Preston walked into the square, followed by other town leaders.

Henry bowed smartly to Felicité. Ross waited for a frog to jump out of Henry's pocket, but no such thing happened. He held out his hands to Felicité, and they began to dance.

“You know this one.” Jennie smiled at Ross.

Mia bounced up. “Hey, three can waltz as easily as two.”

Holding hands with them, Ross stepped and twirled, spinning inward until they were surrounded by couples and, here and there, larger circles of dancers. He felt self-conscious, but everyone was too busy having their own fun to pay any attention.

The second dance was easier. He didn't even mind when somebody spun a girl so fast that she staggered, then collided with Ross, knocking them both down.

Jennie pulled him up. “Let's show them how to do it!”

Ross and Jennie gripped hands. Instead of dancing, they began to spin like two children on a playground. Faster and faster they spun, falling into each other's rhythm the way they did when they sparred, until all he could focus on were Jennie's bright eyes and smile against a whirling background. Her braids stood straight out behind her.

Ross became aware of clapping and cheering, and they slowed to a stop.

“That was great,” Mia said. “Do it with me!”

Jennie laughed. “Ready?” Her strong fingers closed around Mia's wrists, and the two girls began to spin, slowly at first, in time to the dance. Jennie sped up, and Mia struggled to match her, laughing.

Then Jennie shifted her weight and lifted Mia off the ground, whirling her through the air. Mia let out a shriek of delight, and the people around them clapped. Several other couples started spinning.

Soon Jennie slowed, letting Mia sink until her feet touched down.

She began to stumble, but Jennie held her up, spinning her into Ross's arms. He twirled Mia, though he didn't lift her off the ground; he didn't trust his left hand. When they stopped, Ross was slightly dizzy.

“Let's sit down,” Mia said.

“And then let's eat,” he suggested.

“Pa's back!” Jennie ran to the Riley table.

Mr. Riley was in clothes he had obviously borrowed from someone shorter.

“What's the report on your house?” Sheriff Crow appeared out of the crowd. Ross was startled by how different she looked in a clinging black dress.

“We've checked the back half,” Mr. Riley said. “It looks fine, but the rest will have to wait for daylight. So . . . time to eat. Sheriff, I see your mothers brought their famous fry bread.”

Sheriff Crow offered the basket to Ross first. He took a piece of the hot flatbread drizzled in honey, and started to raise it to his lips. The smell of the bread and the oil it was fried in seemed strangely familiar. He'd had it sometime—many times—long ago, when he'd lived in a town.

“I think my father used to make this,” he said.

“Oh?” Sheriff Crow licked honey from her lips. “What's his tribe?” Ross closed his eyes, trying to summon more of the memory. “Or did I jump to a conclusion? My mother Tatyana made half the fry bread, and she's not Indian.”

“No . . . No, I think you're right. But I don't know how I know that. All I remember is this bread.”

“Maybe more will come back to you,” she said kindly. “But first, eat it before it gets cold.”

Ross took the hint, then sat sifting crumbs between his fingers. The bread brought a flood of memories he hadn't known he had. Nothing terrible: Squirming away from his mom as she dried his hair with a towel. Watching dust motes dancing in a ray of sunlight. Petting a black dog with a graying muzzle. He hadn't even remembered that they'd had a dog.

“Are you okay?” asked Jennie. He nodded. “Then come try Anna-Lucia's peach pie.”

“And Aunt Olivia's fish dumplings.” Mia already had a pile of them.

There was more food than Ross had seen in his entire life. He filled his plate, then squeezed in between Mia and Jennie. Despite the noise and the movement, he felt safe and relaxed. Jennie and Mia chattered to each other, talking across him, as he ate slowly, enjoying the flavors and textures.

Jennie's scent of herbs and flowers, and Mia's of soap and olive oil, drifted pleasantly from either side of him. Mia's ruffled skirt had fallen across his lap, and he could feel Jennie's bodice rise and fall against his side as she breathed. For the first time in his life, he felt lucky.

Felicité

FELICITÉ TRIED TO ENJOY DANCING WITH HENRY,
who was surprisingly graceful, but she couldn't help reviewing and re-reviewing the humiliating failure of her presentation. What in the world had happened to Brisa?

Indra waltzed past her—with Nasreen again. This was their third dance! Nasreen was supposed to be her friend, but she hadn't said a word about going with Indra. It was all part of the general disaster that her celebration had become: Nasreen keeping secrets from her; Brisa standing her up—

As if summoned, Brisa came dashing into the square in filthy, oil-spattered work clothes, and triumphantly presented an armload of dusty cloth to Jennie. “I brought you some doilies!”

Felicité forced a smile as Henry burst out laughing. She would be poised and gracious if it killed her. “I'm glad nothing happened to you.”

Brisa put both hands to her face. “Felicité! Oh, no! Did I miss the presentation?”

“Where have you been?” Brisa's mother exclaimed, the sheriff right behind her. “I told Sheriff Crow you were missing!”

“Replacing the Rileys' decorations,” said Brisa blithely. “From when we won the prize for the Year of the Dog festival. First I rummaged through the pantry closet, then I searched the garden shed, and then I remembered the boxes up in the attic. And there they were! But I tripped coming down the ladder, and some stuff in the attic fell on me. But I got the doilies!”

The sheriff laughed. She was wearing high-heeled shoes and an elegant black gown cut on the bias, which flattered her form. From one side. Did she actually think she was still beautiful?

“That is a lovely gown,” Felicité managed, too upset to hear the
clink
.

Sheriff Crow nodded her thanks, but did she say anything about the decorations or the music? No! Everyone was laughing about Brisa's doily hunt, as if that was more important than the poems and the presentation.

Brisa hurried toward Becky. “I'm so sorry, Becky. I lost track of time.”

They were so close that Felicité could hear Becky's tiny voice saying, “These things happen. Don't worry about it. Meredith and I escorted each other.”

“I know these things happen,” Brisa said unhappily. “I've watched them happen to you all the time. I wanted to be the person who didn't do that to you.” Then she leaned in and kissed Becky softly, nothing touching but the two girls' lips.

“Come closer,” said Becky, reaching out.

“I'm all moldy!”

“I don't care.” Becky took her by her mold-covered shoulders and threw her arms around Brisa, hugging her tight. When they parted, Becky was the one to offer a kiss.

A romantic song began to play. Sheriff Crow held out her hand to the circle around her. “Who wants this dance?”

Five or six men pushed forward. Half of them weren't even Changed. Felicité was appalled when Jack Lowell stepped up front. How could even Jack, who was known as the nicest man in town, want to slow-dance with his cheek pressed up to that . . . skull? The crowd looked on, some admiring, some clearly envious, as the two began to dance.

Felicité had begun the evening so happy, under a lovely starlit night, exquisitely attired from the crown of rosebuds on her hat to her new dancing shoes. She'd planned a treasure trove of graceful compliments with which to shower the townspeople when they praised and admired her for her hard work. And it had been hard work.

But nobody noticed. Henry was busy laughing with Tommy and Carlos. She walked past the table where Sera and Ms. Lowenstein were pulling apart a loaf of braided challah bread, and Yuki, Paco, and Meredith were demolishing a steamed fish. Everyone was having a great time—except for the person who made the whole thing happen.

Felicité reached the Wolfe table, which was decorated with her stupid bouquets. She threw the nearest to the ground—it was that or cry. And she would not cry.

A waft of verbena, the rustle of silk, and there was her mother. “Are you all right, dear?”

Daddy was right behind her. “Great job, sweetie. You made us proud.”

“It was not,” Felicité said, trying to keep her voice low. “You heard. You saw. The presentation was horrible. And no one cares how much work I put into it—into everything.”

Her mother smiled. “Everyone is having such a good time, they won't remember the awkward start. That is what I call a success.”

“But nobody appreciates what I did!”

“They might not say so, but look at how much fun everyone's having. Here is something you must learn about political leadership: Most of the time no one notices a good job. They only comment on things they dislike, or when you've handled an emergency. But we noticed.”

She kissed Felicité's hot forehead. “Will you excuse me? I promised to speak with Constanzia.”

Her mother walked up to the Changed woman, ignoring the haze of sparkling light that surrounded her.

Felicité's father sat down beside her. “Your mother is the most perfect woman in the world, but sometimes she can be too kind.”

Of course he meant how her mother was kind to Changed people, but right now Felicité didn't care. “I tried so hard.”

He patted her on the cheek. “Here's something I learned back when I was bad and bold: no battle plan survives contact with the enemy.”

“Enemy?” she repeated, and gave an unsteady laugh.

“But we know who planned and executed the attack. Shall we pick up these fallen soldiers?” He began gathering up the flowers.